


Dew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek (and made hell grant what love doth seek)

by thetidesisrising



Category: Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, F/M, Modern AU, Romance, Violence, this does not have a happy ending btws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetidesisrising/pseuds/thetidesisrising
Summary: Modern AU: the tragic tale of the star-crossed love between the Earl of Pemberley and his beloved Liz.





	Dew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek (and made hell grant what love doth seek)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time coming, and after over a year of editing I am proud to now finally post it on this site. The title derives from the song Orpheus sang to melt Persephone's heart, granting him an ill-fated chance to save his beloved Eurydice. I hope you enjoy and please review!

The music blasted through the speakers, overwhelming his senses as he stood to the side. His leather jacket stuck to his goose bumped flesh, his dark hair hanging around his pounding ears. To him, the scene was acutely distressing. He was weary of the tiny cocktail dresses the women around him wore and their barbaric male counterparts, grinding against them in a desperate attempt to warm their lonely beds for a single night. He detested the flashing lights and deafening music that surrounded him. In fact, ever since he turned the frightful age of thirteen fourteen years ago, he vowed to never step foot in a club. The only reason he changed his mind was to appease his beloved fiancée, Liz.

He met Elizabeth Bennet while she attended the undergraduate program for journalism and media at the University of London. She was only twenty at the time, and part of her accelerated course of study was to spend an evening with those about to receive their law degrees. Though she was not assigned to interview him, she quickly caught his attention as the most astute person in the room. At that particular point in time she was clad in a slightly oversized sweater, her long dark hair pulled into a braid with tendrils of her hair framing her glasses. She was petite, her ballet flats allowing her to appear modest in the presence of some of the most successful men she had ever met. He analyzed every time she craned her neck and blushed; it became suddenly adamant to him that she was from a poorer family, and that though she maintained the façade of a thought provoking reporter, she was extremely uncomfortable in her surroundings.

When she left her client for the evening to fetch a glass of water, he followed her. She did not seem to notice his appearance in her vicinity, for she soon found herself flush against his chest, her water glass emptied on the pristine white of his shirt. She jumped away from him in surprise, her free hand covering her mouth as her cheeks glowed red.

“Oh my god I am terribly sorry, sir!” she blurted, her words spinning out of her mouth at an ungodly speed.

Usually, he would have been annoyed at the attempt she made to redeem herself in his presence, but with this woman he could not seem to mind. Her frantic eyes and shaky hands confirmed that she was genuinely terrified at the thought of bothering anyone, and he found himself wanting to know why. When he did not respond immediately she thought that he was abhorred by her presence, causing her to prattle about the incident at hand.

“Again I am so sorry, sir. If you would like I can give you the money for you to buy a new shirt, it was probably so expensive.”

He continued to stare at her, and she blinked, suddenly feeling terribly tiny underneath his profound gaze. She inhaled sharply, her eyes frantically scanning his person.

“Are you hurt, sir? I did not hurt you did I? I can call for someone if you’d like Mr…”

“Will Darcy,” he replied, his countenance maintaining composure.

Her eyes widened, her skin paling at the revelation that he was perhaps one of the richest men in the room.

It was no surprise that the woman knew who he was; he was one of the few members of British society who still had control over their estates from the time of bloody days and the reign of absolute monarchs and dictators. His estate, Pemberley, was the largest remaining private estate in Britain; the Darcy’s refused to open the home to the public, knowing fully well that the family typically preferred to live there. There was a sort of aura about Pemberley that made it utterly divine, and the notion that any contractor wanted to buy the home from the family for the public’s supposed best interest was revolting. The size of his estate, and the current ill status of his father, made Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy the most desirable bachelor in England.

She bowed deeply.

“My Lord, I am terribly sorry and I will pay for the loss of your shirt and anything else you need from me, I am honestly afflicted for taking up so much of your time.”

This time, he permitted a look of disbelief to flash across his face, his lips turning into a frown.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, glancing at the name on the tote flung across her left shoulder. “Do not be distressed by this situation. It is merely water, and this presents the perfect opportunity to talk to you. From the moment I first noticed you this evening, I knew that your wit excelled everyone around you.”

“Really?” she squeaked, her mouth hanging open in shock of the kindness he displayed her. “And it’s just Liz. You don’t have to do that whole formality thing.”

He smiled.

“I am absolutely certain,” he began, entranced with her fingers as he watched her toy with a loose thread in her sweater. “The same goes for you as well, Liz, I was not named my lord upon my birth, my name is Will.”

They spent the rest of the evening in each other’s company. He provided her with sufficient answers to use for her research paper, and she astonished him with her lighthearted bantering once she was positive that he was not trifling her.

At the end of the evening they agreed to meet at Lucas Lodge the following afternoon for lunch, a restaurant only four blocks from her dorm and two miles from his residence in the city. A courtship soon bloomed, the basis of it being Will’s ardent love for her, and her loyal devotion to him.

A year after he received his law degree, and two months after he attended her graduation from the University of London, they announced their relationship quietly in the form of the transfer of her belongings from her former apartment to his residence in London.  To the bewilderment of much of England, it was soon published in _Harper’s Bazaar UK_ that the heir to the Earl of Pemberley was in a serious relationship with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a woman of particularly no social standing at all.

Less than a month later, another report was made to the public: the Earl of Pemberley passed away in his sleep, leaving his son, Fitzwilliam Darcy to the title. At the funeral, he made the first public appearance with his girlfriend, and she stood beside him as he wept for his father into her shoulder, her gracious mannerism amazing everyone who met her.

While before the public believed that the association with Miss Bennet would be scandalous for the Earl, the people were apt to change their minds. The public perceived their relationship as flawless; Miss Bennet was always tucked under the Earl of Pemberley’s arm, her shiny new Birkin bag a testament to the severity of their relationship. If a paparazzi was able to capture a rare photograph of the Earl’s undying affection for her in the form of a rare chaste kiss on her lips, or the more common brush of his lips against her forehead or fingers, the public raved, comparing their relationship to Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge’s before she was burdened by the demands of motherhood.

In private however their relationship was not as simple. Three months after their relationship went public, Liz revealed that when she was a young teenager, she had been mislead into an abusive relationship by her elder sister Lydia, with a young soldier named George Wickham, a man twice her age. From the time she was fourteen to the time she turned eighteen, she was consecutively beaten and raped, her only solace arriving in the opportunity of a full scholarship to London, permitting her to pack her bags and leave his grasp in the middle of the night, scarcely leaving a note for her father to find upon her disappearance.

She soon became timorous in his presence; she believed that his affection was subdued with her revelation, and she hid from his gaze. Will, however, was enraged at the thought of someone harming her, and it took him a day and a half to speak without bringing himself to tears.

“Why do you cry?” she asked him the second time he trailed off in the middle of a sentence, succumbing to the water streaking down his face. “It’s not like you were the once who was abused darling. I do not understand.”

He managed to gather his thoughts for a fleeting second, wrapping his arms around her waist so that she could snuggle into his side.

“From the time I was a young child,” he began, grabbing her fingers to massage the stress out of her palms. “I was taught that though words are usually adequate for explaining situations, there are times when they are incompetent to express one’s true emotions on the matter. In order to express the true depth of these emotions, one cries, for no words are capable of describing the affect of the situation on that particular person.”

He breathed deeply, allowing his anger to seep out in his exhale, the newfound oxygen increasing his love for her in a near overwhelming manner.

“There are not enough words to describe how anguished I am at this revelation, Liz. I vow to protect you from future harm my love, and I never wish to be parted from you from this day forth.”

He leaned toward her, and she reached up to wipe away a tear trailing down his right cheek, leaving her hand there to caress his worried countenance.

“You have bewitched me Elizabeth,” he confessed, drinking in the fervent love in her dark eyes at his words. “I have never loved anything as much as you my darling, not even my beloved Georgiana.”

Liz replied to his humor with a full-hearted laugh, a watery smile taking shape as he continued on.

“I know that you have struggled, and I know that you may not be ready, but you must tell me if your feelings are as ardent as mine, for I hope that you will one day allow me to love you as passionately as you deserve and perhaps even accept my hand in marriage.”

His eyes flickered away from her gaze; terrified of the response that she could give him. He was astounded when she pressed her lips to his, kissing him with as much love as she could muster, pulling back to smile at his bewildered expression.

“You daft man,” she whispered, pressing another kiss to his left temple. She began to cry, sobs wracking her tiny frame as he clutched her to his chest. “Will, I can not even begin to express the amount of love I hold for you.”

It was soon decided that they would marry two years from that date, giving them enough time to settle in their positions of both journalist and Earl. Will unfortunately ended his law career to manage his estates at Pemberley and London. Liz earned a job at a worldwide news station in downtown London, causing the couple to spend most of their time there. Will required leaves of absence for a fortnight each month to oversee Pemberley and manage the financials. His beloved girlfriend traveled with him; they could not bear to part from each other for more than a week, and she used the traveling time to edit her articles. Liz loved Pemberley as much as Will did, and knowing how terribly he missed it; she conjured the idea that they would mainly reside there once they were married.  

“It’s alright darling,” he replied when she voiced this wish of hers over dinner one rainy evening in London. “I know that you have a job that you adore very much here, and it would harm your professional career if we were to move to Pemberley.”

She smiled at him, internally shaking her head at his stubbornness. He always made sure to put her needs in front of his, and since her confession of Wickham’s treatment of her a little more than a year ago, he held back the extent of his profound passion in order to allow her to not feel pressured by his affection for her. She was eternally grateful for that, however, it was at times like this that she wished that he were not driven by his morality and well-bred manners.

“I do adore my job,” she began, twirling her hair in order to calm her nerves. “But I love you an abundance more than the affection I posses for my job. I know that you desire for us to live in Pemberley, and I do not wish for you to diminish that desire for me. Do not be afraid to be selfish every once in a while.”

He smiled, his eyes filling with deep admiration.

“I already am.”

She rolled her eyes in jest of his response, her smile teasing.

“I do wish to start a creative writing career at some point or another, and if we were to move to Pemberley after marriage I could do so efficiently. The library on the second floor is perhaps my most treasured spot in the entirety of the world; I have written many an article in the comfort of the red armchair near the window on the balcony.”

She leaned across the table, her nimble fingers twirling a tendril of his hair.

“As for your selfishness kind sir,” she said, relishing in the bemused look he conveyed at her comment. “The only selfish member of this particular relationship is me; I have lamentably stolen you from the gold-digging women of today’s society.”

He laughed at her statement, closing the small distance between them with a kiss.

Thus, a routine was established in the following two months that for the length of the nuptial preparations for their decided month of August, they would counteract the stress consuming his fiancée (officially now; he bought her a ring at Tiffany’s a few weeks before, and asked the question two nights after their dinner) with her favorite activity: dancing.

His beloved was well versed in multitudes of genres of dance, and she enjoyed fluttering between the clubs downtown. On Friday nights she wished to attend a dance club, dressing as the rest of her peer group might, in killer heels and a tiny cocktail dress, her bold eye makeup contrasting her usual light complexion. The image created that of a sex icon; and if it were not for her proud beau brooding in the corner of the room every time she went out, she would receive more romantic offers than she currently did. The amount of idle men lining up to bed her enraged him. She saw this of course, and made sure that he could lay his dark eyes on her at all times, easing the tension between the pair due to her past experience with Wickham and his intense jealousy.  She also knew that he despised the notion of dance clubs; the only times he allowed himself to dance were when he was convinced that a man was on the verge of violating her, and for the first couple of visits he constantly hovered around her to ensure her safety.

She knew that he loved the ballroom dancing they partook in every Tuesday and Saturday night. He was much more comfortable there, and he fully allowed himself to relax in her presence. He also adored the jazz club they frequented on Thursday nights; he loved to twirl her about as she shimmed to the rapid beat. His possessive nature was still evident to her, for if a man were to ask for her hand for a dance he would tense under her gentle arm and she would usually decline.

Though she was eternally appreciative of his presence at the dance clubs she attended, she was also a tiny bit disheartened. She had no idea why he would even bother to come at all. She was aware of her situation at all times, and she was rather clever. He always remarked that she had the sharpest tongue that he ever knew and her wit and sensibility were something that he consistently praised.

One of their greater fights of their relationship was over this particular matter. He would not provide his reasoning for his constant companionship when she left for Friday nights, and she was too stubborn to attempt to read his emotions.

“I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people,” he once told her.

At the time she had waved him off, claiming that he was doing a perfectly fine job of communicating with her. After she began to spend more time with him however, she found that he clung to her side in public situations for in reality he was extremely shy. She then understood why gossip rags labeled him dull and rude, he simply was too shy to even try to correct them.

This revelation soon opened her eyes to the severity of his insecurities. She could tell that he knew he was a jealous creature by nature and he constantly punished himself for it. She also recognized his internal fears of inferiority to his late father and his concern about his sister Georgiana, who was only fifteen and at a boarding school so that he could court Liz as he wished.

She recognized this, and yet she was still aggravated, leading to one of their more serious fights. He usually did not raise his voice when they argued; if the arguments were noisy it was usually her voicing her opinion to his fault or defending herself from what she believed to be his attacks on her personality. He was not as blinded by emotion as she was. If he were blinded by anything at all, it would probably be his astounding devotion to her.

“Your possessive demeanor is akin to that of Wickham's,” she vehemently snapped when he refused to answer her frenzied inquiry regarding his behavior. 

As the words escaped her lips, she covered her mouth with her hand, wincing as her eyes widened. His face fell, his usual mask that he wore in the eye of the public falling into place at the absorption of her words. She knew him well enough to see the hurt in his dark eyes, as well as the slight paling of his cheeks.

“No, Will. I didn't mean that. Surely you must know how much I ardently admire and love you.” 

Her words fell upon deaf ears; for when he was assaulted he shut down, every one of his numerous insecurities beginning to plague his thoughts. 

“Thank you for your true thoughts on the matter Madame. If you excuse me I believe that it would be most beneficial for me to take a bit of a drive.”

“Will!” she shouted after him, tears streaking down her face as she ran after him.

“Please come back darling. I could not see you injured, the weather is too violent.”

If he heard her, he ignored her, for the front door to their townhome suddenly swung shut. She bolted to their room, flinging herself across the bed and proceeding to sob. When he returned from his drive two hours later, he found her in the same position, a horrid convulsing sound escaping her chest.

_“Elizabeth!”_ he cried, sprinting to her side and turning her petite frame in an attempt to see her face.

“Will?” she croaked, her hands reaching out to grasp his face.

He exhaled in relief at the realization that the convulsing sound she was making was actually a desperate bid to breathe. He sank on their bed beside her, clutching her body to his chest.

“Will,” she whispered a while later, his fingers twirling his prized curls of her hair.

            “I wish that I could take back the words I uttered this morning. You are nothing like Wickham. In fact, you should condemn me for articulating the belief that there is anything alike between the two of you.

 “I zealously love you,” she continued tears escaping the corners of her eyes. “And it pains me to even imagine the amount of distress I caused you. I would completely understand if you never forgive me.”

He quieted her with his lips, pouring all of his love for her into the motion. He moved away after a moment, and she whined in distress until he attached himself to the nape of her neck.

“I love you,” he breathed against her skin, sending a jolt of heat to the center of her body.

He pushed the sleeve of her shirt further down her arm, exposing more of her porcelain skin to his wandering lips.

“I love you,” he repeated trailing kisses onto her collarbone and eliciting a gasp from her as his right hand began to toy with the hem of her sweater, motioning for permission to creep underneath the bothersome material.

He then moved lower until his lips found the swell of her left breast, his teeth lightly scraping her goose bumped flesh as he sucked on the sweetness of the mound. She moaned in response, the sound sending vibrations to his gut, awakening a need he had not felt in a long time. The newfound bulge in his trousers was sure to be discovered if it had not been already, and in fear of her opinion of his current indecency, he stopped his conquest of her upper chest, pulling away to meet her eyes.

She groaned at the loss of contact, opening her eyes to gaze upon the reason for his sudden removal from her breast.

He opened his mouth to explain himself, but she beat him to it.

“Make love to me,” she commanded.

His eyes widened in surprise. This was certainly not how he expected this particular exchange to happen, however, now that she had suggested it, the notion could not escape the forefront of his mind.

“Are you sure, Liz?” he asked, his fingers lightly brushing her upper arms.

She gazed at him adoringly, brushing a loose tendril of his hair behind his ear, and then reaching down to take one of his larger hands in her own.

“Wickham’s hands were harsh and bruising,” she began, trailing each ridge with her fingertips.

She then placed his hand to her cheek basking in the feeling it brought her.

“Your hands are strong, but gentle. I have never been more certain in my life.”

His covetous qualities did not always cause problems, most of the time she thoroughly enjoyed the special attention he reserved solely for her. She was a grown woman however, and there were limits to how much of his possessive qualities she could withstand. He treated her as a divine jewel; he showered her in kisses and touched her with feather light fingertips. At first she was touched by his vow to love her justly due to her past experiences with Wickham, but as time passed and she learned to trust him completely, she found herself yearning for the passion for her he kept bottled inside him. Their lovemaking was a near overwhelming experience for her the first few times they engaged in the activity, but once she was used to the feeling of a man between her thighs once again she was able to notice the amount of restraint he placed on himself while he was inside of her. He moved painfully slowly to avoid reaching a pace that would alarm her, and because of this she found herself yearning for the relish of his control.

He did not know it the night he donned his leather jacket to attend a dance club with her, but her every intent was to make him succumb to his passion and allow himself to truly love her. He may have noticed her intentions when she descended from their room that evening; her dress was shorter than usual, revealing much of her smooth thighs, and cut a little lower than she usually deemed appropriate in the front, revealing the swell of her breasts. She styled her hair in a lavish updo, intertwining her fingers with his when she reached his side.

“Ready?” she asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He responded by leaning into her, staggering to grasp her waist. She pressed two more lingering kisses onto his lips, savoring the feel of his hands grabbing at her back as hers tangled in his hair.

She pulled back, ecstatic at the outfits’ immediate effect on him. She smiled sweetly, dropping one last kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s go.”

They climbed into the back of the car waiting for them out front, nestling into each other’s sides on the way to the club. The drive was short; soon enough they found themselves exiting the back door.

“We should be done by 11:30,” Will said, his fiancée playfully rolling his eyes at him.

“Thank you very much, Jared,” she said to the driver, reaching across Will to tip him.

“Thank you Miss Bennet,” he replied, shaking Will’s hand before retreating back down the fluorescently lit road.

“Look, Will,” Liz said as they made their way to the front door; holding their hands in front of their faces in an avid attempt to suppress the pressure of the paparazzi. “There is an awful lot of fog settling in.”

He shivered in response; something about the tone of her voice unnerving him. He leaned down to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, giving the public one of their most rare displays of affection.

Liz immediately became alarmed. She was always better at reading his true emotions through his lips than his words, and she felt the intense fear that he attempted to convey to her, deepening their connection by sliding his hands from the sides of her face to her hair. She was suddenly aware of their situation once she witnessed a flash of bright light in the corner of her eyes.

She pulled away, dragging her beloved into the club.

“I am terribly sorry darling,” she said as they made their way to the dance floor. “But we still have a duty to refrain from impropriety.”

He returned her sentiment with a light smile, and in an even more un-characteristic manner than the previous events of the evening, he kissed her palm.

“Have fun my darling,” he replied, beckoning her to go join the dancers

An hour after their arrival, and in the midst of his dwelling on his current scenery, he became aware of a presence to his right. To his dismay, the intruder was none other than Caroline Bingley, his best friend’s younger sister. She had made her intent on winning his hand quite clear a handful of years ago, and due to his present felicity, he was rather peeved with her sudden appearance.

“Hello Caroline,” he said as soon as it became obvious that she was waiting for him to delegate their first interaction.

“Oh Lord Pemberley!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in feign bewilderment. “I was not expecting you to be at a night club. Did you not swear them off when you were thirteen?”

He rolled his eyes, grateful that their current lighting situation did not allow for her to see his impoverished manners.

“I did,” he confirmed, content to only respond when prompted.

Caroline had a knack for running a conversation; her sharp facial features and long blonde hair were considered attractive by many, however to Will they always hid the sinister side of her persona. When she was just fifteen she wrote to her older brother Charlie to warn him against marrying his fiancée due to her dislike of the poor girl. Though it was quite a scandal, Charlie did marry his fiancée Jane, and he began to hound Will to marry ever since.

“Why are you here then?” she inquired, moving to lean into his side.

“My fiancée loves to dance,” he retorted, sliding away from her forward advancements.

She frowned.

“Fiancée? I had no idea you were getting married to the Bennet girl.”

He managed to level his temper as he grounded out: “Yes, Miss Bennet and I _are_ getting married in August. In fact she is just-”

He interrupted his train of thought to search the crowd for Liz, panic creeping into his bloodstream, as he could not set eyes upon her. He turned around in alarm, his eyes narrowing upon Caroline, who flashed him a sinister smile.

“Where is she?” he snapped, his eyes flaring with rage as he managed to maintain a somewhat acceptable stance over her.

She chuckled.

“Hopefully long gone by now.”

He stepped closer to her, his face dangerously close to hers.

“I’m not going to ask again, Caroline,” he said, his vision beginning to cloud with red. “I have every opportunity to ruin you. I know of your little scandalous affair regarding your brother’s marriage, and I have every letter you ever sent me sealed in a box in case of an opportunity to file harassment charges.”

The coloring of her face slightly diminished in light of his demand; Caroline was obsessed with her public image, and the notion that it would be tarnished rotted her resolve.

“Back alley,” she whispered. “I am sorry for what you are about to witness, Fitzwilliam,” she spat.

He glowered at her. She spun on her heel, and then she was gone.

The journey to the back alley was not only passed by his full-on sprint, but a phone call to their chauffer, begging him to leave immediately and be on call in case of the need for an ambulance. He prayed that he did not need to call one, and that he was being extremely melodramatic, but he could not help but move faster as he approached the end of the hallway. He burst out of the door, surprised to see Liz in a wrestling match of sorts with a man shorter than him. He arrived just in time to watch the man’s fist connect with her cheek, causing her to stagger backwards.

“Elizabeth!” he yelled, jumping over the railing of the steps and making her way over to her.

She sobbed silently to herself as he hovered over her; her arms moving upward to grasp at her beacon of safety.

“I’m here,” he said, stroking her hair as she began to relax into his touch. He knew better than to utter trivial phrases such as those containing the word okay, for the fact of the matter was, she would probably not be okay.

“Ah,” the other man began, smiling at the scene unfolding before him. “The lover boy, her precious Earl of Pemberley has come to save his divine goddess.”

Will’s countenance darkened in rage, a fist clenching in her hair.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” he began, the loss of formality in his tone a flashing warning to Liz that he was about to do something he would regret immensely. “But you have no right to treat her in this manner. You need to leave immediately before I cause you bodily harm.”

The man chuckled in response, his disinterested demeanor terrifying Liz more than the blow to her face had.

“Colonel George Wickham,” the man said, a sinister smile lighting his features. “But I doubt you would know who that is since Lizzy dearest never opens herself to anyone, although she constantly opened her thighs for me.”

“If you dare to stain her honor one more time I will rip your tongue out of your mouth.”

Wickham’s smile grew wider.

“You talk big my Lord,” he said mockingly. “Let’s see how well you truly fair.”

Liz restrained her fiancée as he struggled in her arms, his jaw tightly locked in a position to cause damage. His wrath was not mendable; she had only ever seen him this angry once, at a local magazine for publishing less than appropriate pictures of her as she lay sunbathing in their small garden in London.

“Will,” she whispered, her fingers trailing up his arm in an attempt to soothe his rage. “He is not worth the attention. Please use this rage to fuel your affection for me and permit us to return home. Darling, I cannot bare to see how this encounter will end.”

Her plea seemed to reach him. His shoulders sagged, his eyes closing in contemplation. He suddenly stood up, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her up to him. His finger pads lightly ran along her exposed skin, his eyes scanning every crevice for a potential scratch.

“Please,” she begged, tears appearing in the corner of her eyes.

He nodded solemnly, his hand resting on the small of the back as he guided her toward the door that he entered the ally from. At the last moment, he released his delicate hold on her and stalked across the pavement, punching Wickham squarely in the mouth. After the blow, he returned to his beloved’s side.

She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, a quiet thank you for the gesture.

“Are you satisfied now?” she asked, spinning him so that they could retreat to where they came.

Vehemently, her eyes widened in alarm.

“ _Will!”_ she screamed.

When the police later asked him the procession of the events that took place that fateful night, he was unable to answer clearly. In truth, the eight painful seconds between his recognition of the gun in Wickham’s hands to the stagger of Liz’s petite body in his arms as she drooped, were a complete blur. He hardly registered Liz’s warning shout to him as she launched herself in front of him, absorbing the bullet that he was supposed to take to the stomach to her heart.

The only sound he recalled registering was the repetition of “no;” the word creating a mantra in his head for the rest of his life. When he recounted the events to Georgiana later in the week, he was convinced that he affirmed Liz of his undying love for her and how he would never touch a woman for the remainder of his life in the way that he touched her.

The only thing that he was utterly certain of was the painful noise of her frenzied gasps for air, and the sound of her blood spilling onto the asphalt beneath her as she bled out, her head cradled in his lap as he sobbed. Her last words were etched into his very soul, her struggle to convey her last thoughts haunting him for the rest of his life.

“Will, I do not think any less of you for your actions this evening. I need you to know. You will not believe the words if anyone else said it but me. I wish for you to know how much I loved you, and how my passion for you pained me. You are the best of men and you would have been the best of husbands, please do not mourn me for too long. I love you.”

She inhaled one last time, her near vacant gaze fixating on the sky.

“I wish there were stars,” she croaked, her every move succumbing to the devouring hand of death. “They remind me of your eyes.”

She stilled in his grasp and the moon mourned his lasting wail.

\--

The Earl of Pemberley died nine years later in a fatal automobile accident. He was on his way to visit his fiancée’s grave when he was relentlessly perused by paparazzi, causing his chauffer to run a red light, and straight into an SUV. He died upon impact, and the world mourned.

The journal where his fiancée once worked called his sister, the new Countess of Pemberley to request an interview at her estate once she was ready to share some insight to the extremely private man’s personal life. Knowing that she could not refuse a connection to her late brother’s late love, she invited a reporter to interview her, knowing that she would need some time to reflect on his life.

Georgiana turned twenty-four two moths before her brother died. When she turned eighteen, she was thrust into the international spotlight, her impeccable fashion sense and unfathomable wealth leveling her to an icon. She spoke four languages beside English by the time she was twenty-one, French, Italian, Spanish, and German; and her well-renowned musical ability allowed her to flourish in the spotlight. She was personable, unlike her proud brother, even if she sometimes came off a little shy. When her brother died and the family title was passed to her, she recognized that she would have to sit down for at least one interview, and when the opportunity arose she gladly accepted.

A young woman with mousy brown hair entered her estate a week and a half later, leaving her with plenty of time to prepare for her interview.

“Your home is enchanting, my Lady,” the woman said, bowing her head in respect of her presence.

“Thank you –”

“Kitty. Kitty Bennet.”

Georgiana smiled. She had a certain idea as to where this newfound relationship was going, and she did not mind it one bit.

\--

_“My brother was always perceived as horribly proud, but in reality he was quite shy. He detested the responsibilities left to him due to our father’s death, and I always associated [Lord Pemberley] as a bit of a loner. He preferred to read quietly in the library or play the piano, to the tedious responsibilities that came with inheritance. He swam in insecurity; he believed that no one would ever truly love him and that he was the dullest member of our family, when in reality he was the cleverest. He was always way cleverer than me, and the horrid thing about it was that he did not believe himself to be, always degrading his true ability._

_“This changed the moment he met his famed love, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Though he was extremely private about the nature of their relationship in the public eye, I was fortunate enough to see the smaller changes in him. She was undeniably astute, which was probably why my brother was attracted to her in the beginning, setting aside her gorgeous features that allow her to remain on my list of ten of the most gorgeous women I have ever laid my eyes upon.  There is no other term I can use to convey her personality accurately other than apt; she was quick to correct my brother and their excessive banter filled whatever room they were in with utter joy._

_“I did not know then, that [Miss Bennet] was actually a victim of an abusive relationship. I did notice the dolor in her gaze whenever my brother left her side, but I believed that they were so in love that they could not bare to be separated for more than a second. For the first year of their relationship she attached herself to my brother’s side; his arm usually settled around her waist whenever they went out. He was protective of her in a way that most young girls dream. He consistently hovered by her side during social events they were required to attend, and his presence allowed her to settle into a routine of happiness. Their relationship caused him great felicity; I had never seen my brother as alive as he was in her presence. They intended to marry that August after she died. [Lord Pemberley] was set on their marrying here, however, Miss Bennet realized that they needed to marry at a church somewhere to honor tradition. They were in the process of choosing one the week that she perished._

_“When she died, a part of him died with her. He was never the same; he wore only the darkest shades of black in mourning. I would often descend the stairs into the east parlor to find him in a trance at the pianoforte. My brother’s performances were always ingenious, but after her death his agony entered the pieces he played, causing a heartbreaking reality to form as a result of his playing. He did not speak of her for three years, and if the staff at either of his properties in London or Pemberley referenced her, he would snap that she was the Countess of Pemberley, and that they had no right to reference her in any other manner. His property in London remained untouched, as well as the second floor library at Pemberley; those were the places they frequented most often, and he could not bear to witness where she once dwelled._

_“I will not indulge into the last conversation the two had for it is strictly none of the media’s business. My brother told me immediately after her death that he did not wish for her most vulnerable state to be revealed to the public, however I also believe that the public does not need to know of the true vulnerability of him as well. I will divulge that he believed that her passing was his fault and that he could have prevented it if it were not for his pride. I doubt this highly as her killer still had a gun anyways, but the logic of the situation did not appeal to him. Even though she was avenged through the justice of the law, my brother making his final stance at the court as he destroyed the man, he was never satisfied with the result, leaving him to brood in a bewitched state for the rest of his days._

_“I am terribly saddened to see him leave so soon, but I do know that it was for the ultimate better. Hopefully he and his beloved will be reunited in the afterlife, a privilege that the pair deserve for all of the suffering they endured during their time here among the mortal population. I wish for him to be remembered as a man who loved deeply instead of a man blinded by his pride, for I am quite sure that many accounts of his personality in that manner will float throughout the news. He was truly the most admirable man I have ever had the fortune to know, and until I die I aspire to be as kind as he was to Miss Bennet in her greatest hour of need.”_


End file.
